Bride by Initiation: Secret Society Mafia Marriage Pact (The Underworld Book 1)
Bride by Initiation: Chapter 12

It feels like we’re in the air forever. Sylvia told me to sleep, but I couldn’t shut off my mind. She’s been beside me with a mask over her eyes, peacefully sleeping for hours.

The shades over the windows are locked, so I can’t lift them to know if it’s nighttime or daytime.

Destiny, the flight attendant, approaches with a smile. She softly shakes Sylvia, cooing, ‘Time to wake up,’ as if they’re longtime friends, and she’s used to being her alarm clock.

Sylvia stirs, then removes her mask, blinking a few times.

Destiny chirps, ‘We’re landing shortly.’

‘Thank you,’ Sylvia replies, and puts her seat upright.

Destiny disappears behind the curtain.

The landing gear squeaks, and the plane descends.

I ask, ‘Where are we?’

‘I already told you it’s classified information,’ Sylvia reprimands.

I roll my eyes and turn toward the window, then get more frustrated from the reminder I can’t see out of it.

The wheels hit the ground, and the bins rattle. The pilot hits the brakes, and we slow down to a stop.

Sylvia stretches her arms over her head, yawning.

The door to the jet opens, and Destiny slides the curtain back. ‘All safe to deplane.’

Sylvia gets up and steps behind her seat. She motions for me to go first.

My stomach flips. I walk down the aisle, pass Destiny, and enter the jetway.

It, too, has no windows. The air is warm and borderline humid, so I’m guessing we’re somewhere tropical, but I could be wrong.

Soft light flickers from candles inside sconces. A dark hardwood floor and black painted walls surround us.

Sylvia keeps her hand on my back, guiding me forward. A door opens, but it looks the same as the jetway. We travel down several more hallways until we finally enter a high-end locker room.

It reminds me of a spa, but a very intimate, personal, and luxurious one. Plush cream-colored couches and chairs line the room. The center has a massage table with an infrared light hanging above it.

One side of the room has a marble counter. Water infused with lemons, limes, oranges, and basil fills glass jugs. Nuts, dried fruit, and dark chocolate heap out of bowls.

Similar to the hallways, the room is light by candles in sconces. The scent of roses fills the air, mixing with some earthy oil, which I assume is sandalwood.

Sylvia points to the corner of the room. There’s a toilet room with a door, and a huge, open shower fills the rest of the space. An oversized vanity with tons of cosmetics, hair tools, brushes, and other toiletries is situated across from the beverage station.

Sylvia states, ‘Renzo and Mila will give you a massage before they help you shower. They’ll also do your makeup, hair, and nails, and ensure you’re freshly waxed.’

Renzo and Mila?

Massage?

Help me shower?

Wax?

My chest tightens, and my heart races. I glance around.

A tall Italian-looking man steps into the room, followed by a beautiful Middle Eastern woman. Her long, dark hair reminds me of silk. They both have warm brown eyes and perfect skin. Her makeup is flawless, and she offers a kind smile.

I freeze. My eyes dart between them and Sylvia, still unsure what’s happening.

She strokes my hair and smirks. ‘Ah, yes. I know you want to run, but that’s not the smart move.’

I admit, ‘I don’t understand why I’m here.’

Sylvia arches her eyebrows, as if she’s convinced I have no reason to be confused and made a silly statement. ‘Darling, it’s about getting you ready for initiation. It is what you said you wanted, correct? To know all the answers?’

I bite my lip, the thumping in my chest growing louder, wanting answers but unsure what I’m getting myself into.

Sylvia orders, ‘You will do everything Mila and Renzo instruct you to do so you are fully prepared. Do you understand, Zara?‘

I glance again at Mila and Renzo. They seem harmless enough, but I’m unwilling to trust anyone I don’t know.

‘If you fight them on anything, showering, waxing⁠—’

‘What do you mean?’ I interject, her words sinking in. ‘I don’t need to shower. And I had my wax last week. Not that it’s any of your business.’

Anger and authority fill Sylvia’s voice as she declares, ‘You will do everything they say and not argue or fight them. If you make any trouble, you will not take part in initiation. The choice is yours. Do I make myself clear, Zara?’

My heart beats faster. I glance around the room. On any other day, it’d be every girl’s pampering dream, but everything feels off about this situation. Besides, I’m not marrying someone. Sylvia can be as insistent as she wants, but there’s no way I’m marrying any of those men in the binder.

Sylvia tilts her head, arches her eyebrows, and softens her voice. ‘Didn’t you promise yourself you would do whatever it takes to replace all the answers?’

My insides quiver. I’m shocked once again. It’s like she can read my thoughts, but I don’t understand how she can. It’s a vow I hadn’t spoken to anyone.

She steps closer, taunting, ‘Didn’t you stand in that restaurant tonight, reaffirming that you would learn the truth about what your parents are hiding from you?’

My pulse quickens even further. The quivering intensifies, making me feel slightly ill.

She puts her hand on my cheek in a motherly way. ‘You deserve to know the truth, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I say without hesitation.

‘Then initiation is the only way. But you must choose it,’ she reiterates.

Everything around me seems to amplify. The smell of the roses, the dim lights, and the strangers who study me with a sultry expression, all make my conscience tell me to run.

Sylvia’s voice sharpens. ‘It’s yes or no. You can either let Renzo and Mila help get you ready or not.’

I remain silent, unable to say I’m willing to walk away from learning the truth.

Sylvia adds, ‘When you’re done, they’ll help you dress and offer you to the bidders.’

A chill flies through my bones. My voice cracks when I say, ‘O-offer me?’

Her challenging smirk reappears. ‘Yes. Initiation will begin. You will continue to secure your place at the table.’

More confusion floods me. ‘My place at the table?’

She laughs, as if once again she can read my mind. ‘Darling, your spot at the table gives you all the answers. That is still what you want, correct? No more secrets regarding your family members?’

I lick my dry lips and nod, unable to stop myself.

She looks satisfied with my answer. ‘Good. You’ll be a married woman the next time you see me.’

A new round of fear fills me. There’s no way I’ll ever commit to marrying one of the strangers in the binder. I blurt out, ‘I’m not marrying anyone.’

She scoffs. ‘Of course you are. That’s the only way to get through your chosen initiation ceremony.’

‘Chosen?‘

‘Yes. The Omnipotence has selected this as your initiation.’

‘So others get in with a different task?’

She shrugs. ‘Sure. We wouldn’t want things to turn stale.’

Relief fills me. ‘Great. Give me something else to do.’

Her eyes turn to slits. ‘You don’t get to choose your initiation.’

‘Why not?’

Haughtiness fills her expression. ‘Oh dear, naive woman. Until you are at the table, there is no power. No control. If you wish to have it, you must be brave and take your seat. The table is not for the faint of heart, is it, Mila?’

Mila looks at the ground and shakes her head.

‘How many chances do you get?’ Sylvia asks her.

Mila doesn’t look up, quietly answering, ‘One.’

The disappointment in her tone makes me feel sorry for her.

‘There will be no more disrespect toward your initiation or marriage. Do I make myself clear, Zara?’ Sylvia says coldly.

The hairs on my neck rise.

She glares at me.

I lift my head higher and square my shoulders, trying not to let her intimidate me.

She smiles, her voice softening. ‘The time to make a choice is now. Decide to step into the world of knowledge and everything you’ve ever wanted, or don’t. But you have two minutes to decide. Stay or leave.’ She points to the door.

Everything seems to stand still. It’s excruciating, and I tell myself to leave, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move.

Sylvia’s cocky expression returns. ‘Good.’ She leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘I suggest you stop fighting things and enjoy every moment tonight will offer. There are a few times in our lives where everything is all about us.’

My blood runs cold. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

‘Renzo and Mila are now in charge. You will allow them to do their job and not fight them. If you fight, the Omni will revoke your initiation. Do you understand?’

Let them revoke it. I need to leave, I tell myself, but once again, I can’t seem to move.

‘I’ll take that as a yes. Now, strip,’ she orders.

My head jerks backward. ‘Strip? As in, take off my clothes?’

‘Yes. Strip,’ she repeats, and points at the massage table.

‘Can you leave the room?’ I question.

A sarcastic laugh fills the air, as well as a giggle. My head whips toward Renzo and Mila. She has her hand over her mouth.

Sylvia suggests, ‘You might as well get used to others seeing your body. Now, get on the table.’

I glance at it, telling myself, It’s just a massage.

I slowly undress, feeling self-conscious, even though I don’t normally feel that way when I’m naked. Though I’m not usually naked in front of strangers.

‘Lie face down,’ Sylvia directs when I drop my panties.

I obey, realizing there are no covers, but the heated pad on the table and red lights provide an instant warm feeling.

Sylvia leans down and pets my hair, cooing, ‘Enjoy your pampering. If you don’t allow yourself to, you’ll regret it. I’ll see you when you’re a married woman.‘

My fear blossoms again. Someone touches me, and I jump.

Renzo declares in an Italian accent, ‘Easy. We’re just going to give you a massage.’

I take a deep breath and slowly release it.

Four hands glide across my skin, kneading my muscles. At first, it’s nice, like an upscale massage. Within a few minutes I relax, enjoying it as if I were at a spa.

Then things take a turn. Someone’s hands, I don’t know whose, move closer toward my breasts as two other hands reach between my thighs and widen them.

I inhale sharply.

Mila’s voice murmurs close to my head, ‘Don’t tense up. This is a massage.’

I try to relax again, but it soon becomes clear this is not like a normal massage.

Someone’s hands, I believe they’re Renzo’s, glide upward, stopping an inch from my pussy, teasing the skin until my blood runs hot.

Another pair of hands trails the sides of my breasts, sliding between the sheet and my skin, getting closer to my nipples.

I try to squeeze my legs together, but I can’t. Renzo’s hands hold them apart as his thumb circles right next to my growing dampness.

I open my eyes, staring at the floor, my breathing ragged.

Hot breath hits my pussy, and I lift my head off the pad, but someone pushes it back down.

‘Relax,’ Renzo orders in an authoritative tone.

‘I can’t,’ I admit.

Hands rub my neck behind my ears.

Tingles race down my spine.

Another breath of air teases my most intimate parts, but nothing touches it.

Renzo declares, ‘Her pussy’s hot. Her husband will approve.’

Panic slaps me. I try to lift my head again, but a palm quickly presses it down, keeping it in place.

Mila’s hot breath tickles my ear. Her hand travels down my spine, and she murmurs, ‘Relax, kitten. No one wants a dry bride.’

The more I fight, the more they warn me.

Renzo asserts, ‘We have a deadline to meet. The longer we’re here, the more they know you’re resisting. I suggest you relax and let us do our job.’

I finally cave, and I hate myself for it. My juices pool on the table without anyone touching the parts that normally make them wet.

Renzo lowers his head and sniffs near my ass, rubbing my upper thighs, close to being sexual but never touching my pussy.

Heat courses through my body, and I feel slightly dizzy.

‘Time for your wax,’ Mila softly states as something hot drips all over the back of my thighs and buttocks, then the strip is applied.

Someone pulls it, and I yelp, unprepared.

Within a minute, they’re done.

‘Get on all fours,’ Renzo orders.

Horror fills me. I’ve had Brazilian waxes before, but it’s always been by somebody I know, and never a man.

‘Don’t make me repeat it. They’re watching,’ he threatens.

‘They?’ I question, moving my head out of the headrest.

‘They know everything,’ Mila says, as if it’s not a big deal. ‘Now, get on all fours.’

I decided it’s best to obey. I lift to my hands and knees, and they finish waxing the back part of me.

Renzo snaps, directing, ‘Flip over and put your heels together.’

My heart races. I turn over, and soon have no hair except for the locks on my head.

Mila’s lips twist. She glances over my naked body and then meets my eye. ‘Time to shower.’

Adrenaline rushes through me again.

Renzo holds out his hand. ‘Come on, il fiore. Let’s go.’

Within moments, I replace myself under a hot shower.

Renzo warns, ‘Don’t argue about anything. Sylvia will make good on her threat to revoke your initiation. So behave. Put your hands on the bar.’

I hesitate, staring at the gold rail in front of me.

‘Do you want to know the truth or stay in the dark? Because this is the only option,’ Mila reminds me.

I take a deep breath and grip the bar.

Renzo puts a cold mask over my eyes. They’re like a pair of sunglasses, and they hook behind my ears.

Mila states, ‘The puffiness will be gone by the time we’re done cleaning you. They’re amazing, trust me.’

I don’t reply, and I’m unable to see anything. I replace it odd that she’s acting like this is some beauty hour. And the lack of sight intensifies all my sensations.

They rub soap all over my body, then shampoo and condition my hair. Once it’s rinsed, they add a hair mask to my strands and turn off the water. They wrap a towel around my head.

They continue to massage me until every part of my lower body aches with need, wanting to do things I wouldn’t want to normally do with either of them. And I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I’ve taken a drug, because I feel relaxed, but I know I haven’t.

‘Time to rinse,’ Mila chirps and turns the water back on. They carefully rinse the mask from my hair and then reposition the towel around my head again.

Renzo diligently dries my body off with another towel.

They lead me to the vanity, grooming me while I sit naked. Oddly, I’m not cold. There’s another red light heating my skin.

Luxuriously thick lotion is rubbed into my skin until I’m glowing. My nails, makeup, and hair all receive five-star attention.

The entire time, Renzo and Mila rave about every part of my body and how perfect or amazing it is, making me more uncomfortable but eventually almost immune to it. They continuously touch and massage me, keeping me on edge with a pool of wetness soaking the chair.

Renzo drops to his knees, puts his hands on my thighs, and leans toward me.

‘What are you doing?’ I nervously ask.

He inhales deeply and then looks up at Mila, declaring, ‘She’s ready.’

My pulse goes haywire, and a chill runs down my spine.

He disappears while Mila finishes curling my hair.

Renzo returns, holding a corseted white-lace minidress, announcing, ‘Time’s a ticking.‘

My butterflies go crazy to the point I feel nauseous. I put my hand over my stomach.

Mila pouts. ‘Aw, don’t be like that. This is your big day.’

Renzo adds, ‘This is the day every girl dreams about her entire life!’

My heart races so fast I think it’s going to explode.

They’re crazy.

This entire situation is fucked-up.

There’s no way I’m getting married.

Mila grins, chirping, ‘The truth is right around the corner.’

Get out of here, I tell myself, but once again, I’m unable to make myself leave.

I let them help me into the corset. There’s luxurious boning all around it, pushing up my cleavage. It tapers to my waist, then stops before a detailed see-through lace floral design barely covers my pussy. The back is just as transparent as the front, and the bottom of my ass cheeks peek out from under the delicate lace.

Renzo and Mila fuss over me and then she attaches an elegant train at each side of my waist. It falls several feet behind me, and Renzo pulls it out.

They guide me in front of the floor-length mirror.

Renzo whistles.

Mila claps. ‘The perfect bride.’

‘Almost. Don’t forget her veil,’ Renzo says.

‘Oh, duh,’ Mila says, grabbing a tiara with lace attached. She secures it at the back of my head.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My makeup is flawless, and I look more exquisite than ever. I’m in an outfit that should only be worn in the bedroom, yet it has a train, as if it’s an actual wedding gown.

My cheeks heat at first, but then something strange happens.

The more I stare, the calmer I get, and I don’t understand why.

‘Ah, there it is,’ Renzo coos, pointing at my reflection.

‘What?’ I question.

Mila slides her arm around my shoulders and gives me a small hug. ‘You’ve accepted it. You really are ready.’

I gape at them and then at myself.

Have I accepted this?

Another shot of panic shoots through me, and I shake my head.

Mila puts her head right next to mine. ‘Don’t do that. You’re too close to the truth.’

I freeze.

Renzo cocks his elbow and holds out his arm for me. He gives me a fatherly smile and declares, ‘It’s time to take your seat at the table. Let’s go, il fiore.’